


Jemma's Secret

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bless her thirsty little heart, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff, Jemma has no chill, Lingerie, Mild Sexual Content, More Fluff, Prompt Fic, With A Twist, episode 3x21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma wasn't booking a trip in "Absolution". She was buying lingerie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jemma's Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raptorlindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raptorlindsay/gifts).



> Written for Raptorlindsay with the following (and marvellous) prompt: "Instead of the travel site, Jemma was looking at Victoria's Secret (on the work computer because NO CHILL) and when Fitz sees they both are terrible flustered but also turned on? Cut to: putting whatever Jemma ordered to good use. Extra points if it's something with super complicated straps that these two geniuses have way too much trouble with."  
> Much thanks to Agentcalliope for beta-reading once again.

"We'll find a cure," Jemma insisted, cutting through his frustration with her reasonable-Jemma voice.

"Possibly. In a decade or so," Fitz countered grudgingly, before pivoting on his chair to face her. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, nothing," she said just a little too brightly, her eyes rounding as she turned her gaze away from him. "Just– browsing some… things."

They may have been dating only two weeks, but he had ten years of studying her under his belt, so to speak, and sometimes Fitz felt like he knew her better than himself. He abruptly raised from his seat, sending his chair rolling haphazardly away, and came to stand directly behind her.

"You're a terrible liar," he stated, and taped on her keyboard to bring up the browser window she'd just hidden. 

Fitz's jaw swiftly hit the floor. 

"Victoria's Sec–" Fitz exclaimed before Jemma cut him off.

"Shhh," she chided, nodding her head in the direction of the next bench, where Dr. Marcus was examining tissue samples from Radcliffe's hellbeasts under the microscope.

"Sorry," he muttered. "But– really?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Jemma said, sounding mildly miffed.

She huffed before clicking on the next browser tab, angling her body in a way that might, hopefully, mask the view of her screen from other onlookers. She had about half a dozen open tabs that Fitz could see. How long had she been "browsing things"? Did she do that often? As far as he knew, her underwear selection tended toward the practical. 

Not that he was complaining, of course. That was more than enough to get him–  _ interested _ . Hell, Jemma in worn-out sweatpants was enough for that, as long as he got to peel them off of her. 

He was about to voice his thoughts when some flashing color on the screen caught his eyes and suddenly, he couldn't remember what he'd been about to say.

"Are y– uh– wha–" Fitz stammered unhelpfully.

The model was wearing something that looked a bit like a one-piece bathing suit, only it was all lace and see-through mesh, with a neckline that almost reached the navel and a number of straps running down the back. 

"That looks unnecessarily complicated, doesn't it?" she chimed in before he had recovered enough to mentally dress her in it. " I would hate to find myself stuck in that thing if I ever was in the mood to… take it off."

Fitz cleared his throat and shook his head to chase away the number of impure thoughts that rapidly invaded his mind, but didn't miss Jemma's smug little smile before she clicked the next tab.

This time, he had trouble holding in a gaspand gripped her desk with his hands. Again, it was some sort of lacy bathing suit, only the sides joined at the neck and at the waist, but not at all in between, giving plenty of access to anything interesting one might find between a woman's neck and waist. 

His eyes jumped between the screen and Jemma's face, and soon enough he had a very clear mental picture of Jemma wearing the thing, exposed freckles and all.

"That's, uh– I mean–"

Wordlessly, Jemma raised an eyebrow and passed to the next one. He could feel her eyes on his face and he wanted to look back at her, but he seemed to have temporarily lost control of himself.

The model looked a little like Jemma– their body type was similar, at any rate, which helped –or worsened– matter even more. It was a black bustier covered in little eyelets and connected to a tiny –minuscule, really– pair of panties by some sort of decorative straps. 

At each side, the panties were attached by a bow. One tug little tug –even an accidental one, surely– and the tiny panties would just...

"Express delivery?" Jemma asked, looking very pleased with herself as she hit the "Add to bag" button. 

***

The box did come in the next day, but for obvious reasons, Jemma put it away at the back of her wardrobe, to be opened at a later time. 

Not that they remained perfectly chaste during their time of mourning –it was the opposite, really. The moment they found themselves alone at the end of the day, they were tearing at each other's clothes, finding comfort and joy in each other's body and the indestructible bond they shared. Then they held each other's through the tears and the nightmares and the haunting fear of having almost lost each other once again.

Their world was changing rapidly again. Shortly after Lincoln's death, Daisy disappeared without a trace, leaving no clue but a note begging them not to look for her. Coulson resigned only days later, leaving May in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operations. With so many of the senior agents gone, their work days were infinitely stressful, which was why, when Jemma found the forgotten pink box which she rummaged through her clothes looking for something else, she fished it out with a grin. 

She tried it on, happy that it fit –it was quite pricy for such a small thing, and it wasn't likely it would join her regular rotation of underthings any time soon– although she did feel a little ridiculous in it. It was so... obvious. That article of clothing did not suggest "subtle seduction". It was the Christmas tree of lingerie, all it was missing was a bunch of blinking lights in key places. But she remembered the look on Fitz's face when he'd seen it on the website, and she was prepared to go over and beyond to see that particular expression again.

She put on her robe and fastened the belt before the went to lay in bed with a book, waiting for Fitz to finish debriefing the latest recruit.

Finally, a solid half an hour later, a knock came to the door.

"Hi," he said, smiling tiredly when she opened the door.

"Oh, it's you," she smirked, taking him in. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, his bristled cheeks  scruffier than usual. The dark blue shirt he wore did wonders for his eyes –in short, he looked more handsome to her by the day.

Jemma pulled him in, locking the door behind him.

"Expecting someone, were you?" he asked before kissing her softly.

"I guess you'll have to do," she shrugged. With a little trepidation, she took a step back and tugged on the belt before shrugging off her robe. She willed herself to stand still under his examination –after all, Christmas trees didn't fidget. 

His gaze travelled down, then up, then down again. When their eyes met, she found his were glazed over.

"I had forgotten about that," he said, his voice breaking a little.

"Me too," she admitted. "Still like it?"

"Uh uh." 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him for a series of long, breathless kisses. Soon enough, they fell back on the bed together and rid Fitz of his shirt. 

The first problem arose when he tried to pull down the straps off her shoulders.

"How does it– how do you–"

The bustier was rigidly hugging her torso and denying him access to her breasts. It had taken her quite some time to properly close all the hooks that kept it fastened in the back, although she'd had to twist it upfront then back again in a manner that was no doubt entirely graceless and she didn't care to replicate for now.

"Would you mind terribly if I kept it on?" Jemma asked as seductively as she could manage.

His eyes lost focus again, which she figured was a good sign.

"I can work with that," he assured her, glancing at her mesh and eyelets covered breasts, before he bent down to kiss them through the thin material.

From then, it wasn't long before Fitz tugged on the knot on each side of panties. One side fell off of her easily, while the other remained stubbornly in place.

"Uh, Jemma," he whined. "I think it's stuck."

"Let me do it," she huffed, and scratched the knot with her nails until she managed to loosen it. Still attached to the bustier, one half of the panties dangled in front of her a little lamely, but Fitz didn't seem to mind –at least not until he laid over her and jumped off almost immediately.

"Tickles," he explained when she questioned him with a raised eyebrow.

Jemma rolled her eyes and tugged the offending flap under the bustier. 

"Next time, granny panties," Jemma grumbled.

"I don't care," he smirked, flipping them over. "As long as you're in them."

Or out of them, she supposed.

"When did you get so smooth?" she wondered aloud, earning a chuckle from him.

As she straddled him, she couldn't miss the way his eyes kept skimming over the bustier she was still wearing with an air of intense concentration.

"You really like this, don't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "It's a good style for you. You should make it your trademark look."

"Rebrand a little?" Jemma raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Didn't you know?" Fitz grinned, "Scientists don't just wear lab coats and goggles at all times."

"You make a very good point, Dr. Fitz."

When he looked up at her again, she found that while his eyes were dancing with mirth,  his cheeks were flushed from their ongoing activities and his chest heaved with exertion. With a sense of satisfaction, she noted she had reached the goal she'd set to achieve –pleasing her bafflingly perfect boyfriend with uncomfortable and impractical lingerie. As futile and trivial as that goal may seem, after all they've been through, all the tragedies… Surely, a little fun wouldn't kill them.


End file.
